


c’mon, angel don’t you cry

by gottabewhatomorrowneeds



Series: my way home is through you [1]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Misgendering, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), Nonbinary Show Pony (Danger Days), Other, Trans Kobra Kid (Danger Days), Transphobia, helena & party poison r girlfriends uwu, i call the girls mom ‘helena’ bc she deserves a name!!!!!, if anything should be tagged lmk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24939421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottabewhatomorrowneeds/pseuds/gottabewhatomorrowneeds
Summary: Five times people almost told Party Poison that they were the Girl's parent and the one time it didn't matter.
Relationships: Party Poison (Danger Days)/The Girl’s Mom (Fabulous Killjoys), The Girl's Mother (Fabulous Killjoys)/Mike Milligram
Series: my way home is through you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818130
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	c’mon, angel don’t you cry

They’ve known each other for what feels like a lifetime, yet it’s only been four years. But war ages even the youth, steals their time away like the drainage of a battery, and so it feels as if it’s been centuries and lifetimes yet it’s barely been a blip in the eyes of the universe, in the eyes of a god.

But Helena is no god, only a mortal amongst other mortals, and she is content with that fact.

She was only seventeen when she met them, when they had a different name and a different gender and a different personality. She met them before they became Party Poison, before they became the legend that would echo in the static of the zones in empty nights or the ghost that lingered restlessly for many years. She met them before they became who they had to become, before the fires of war tainted their soul forever.

She knew them after that, too. When they had become a soldier who had lived through the horrors of war, who had committed ungodly crimes against fellow humans. She knew them in those trenches, where their ears were constantly ringing from the sounds of explosives, when they were covered in blood that wasn’t theirs, when mud became another layer of skin, when they were too young to understand love.

She’s only twenty one when everything goes to shit. Though if she is frank, everything went to shit when she was seventeen and got drafted into those godforsaken Helium Wars, when Party Poison was sixteen and willingly signed up to provide for their sick sister. It started with those god damned wars, a domino to cause the fall of so many bright souls and tyrants wrought with avarice.

But it ends in a different war. The Analog Wars.

After years of plodding through the Helium Wars, after fighting for two years in a war that preluded either of their births, in a war that was entirely meaningless, they realised that they had suffered for no reason. They watched countless of their peers die awful, awful deaths for no reason. So many had fallen into nameless mass graves, had their dog tags snatched so as not to waste precious metals. So many of their peers live on as corpses in the blood-stained sand, in the crimson drenched trenches, in their mass graves.

What had they died for? Nothing but the blood money that fuels the corrupt government which started the war simply to find cheaper materials. 

They weren’t satisfied moving back into Battery City. They weren’t satisfied with the utopia BLi had forged for so many years as they bled, and long before them, too. They hated the homogenized society they were forced to become integrated into. They hated the terrible propaganda and those sick little pills that made them loose that firey hatred broiling in their guts. They loathed what they had done in the wars, and they loathed what they had to come back to.

BLi wouldn’t acknowledge any of the veterans. They just assigned them pills to swallow to tamp down the hatred in their veins, the depression in their souls, the aching fear in their bones. They refused to acknowledge them, only kept trying harder and harder to force them to become one with the society they built.

And Helana and Party Poison tried. They did, truly, desperately.

They wanted those pills to erase their past misdeeds. They wanted those pills to erase those sleepless nights, those moments of unbridled rage, that terrifying fear lurking under their skin. They wanted to be helped, to be treated, to be fixed and cleansed and erased.

But BLi didn’t want to actually help them. They just wanted to turn them into mindless drones. They wanted to erase everything instead of isolating the problem, because emotions as a whole were the problem at hand.

Helena loathed being unable to feel anger or sadness or joy or frustration. She didn’t want to feel hopeless or desolate or fearful ever again, but she’d rather feel those emotions every day of her life if it meant she could also feel joy.

Her emotions were beautiful. They were human. But BLi only saw them as imperfections to be corrected. 

She didn’t want to be perfect. She wanted to be beautiful.

Party Poison felt the same way. And as it turned out, so many of her veteran peers also had those same feelings. So the two of them decided to use that to their advantage, to use their voices to call out BLi for forcing them into doing those heinous war crimes during the Helium Wars, for the mistreatment and refusal of proper accommodations for the veterans, for becoming a corrupt government who cares only for perfection and riches and complete loyalty from the masses and will sweep everything else under the rug.

The Analog Wars were thus born.

For a solid two years, Party Poison and her truly have a successful operation running. They teamed up with two other killjoys, Crow Claws and Raven. They call themselves killjoys, because they want to ruin BLi’s so called fun. Helena remembers the protests they tried to stage only to get heckled by civilians for trying to ruin their good time.

BLi tries their damnedest to destroy them all. It’s a bloody and brutal war that, although has fewer casualties than the Helium Wars, causes more deaths in those two years than during the first five years of the Helium War. So many of their peers are slaughtered ruthlessly in an attempt to silence the insurgence. 

But BLi can’t kill an idea. BLi can’t kill a belief no matter how many guns and bullets and grenades they use up.

People live in the desert now, more so than they did before. When the Helium Wars first started, hundreds of people fled to start a new life in the desert. But since then, the number of people escaping Battery City continued to drop until it became just a trickle. 

Yet now with the Analog Wars, more and more people are fighting their way against the system to join the cause of the killjoys. More and more people are slipping past BLi’s claws and joining the fray. The idea is spreading like a virus, and there is no cure to radicalism.

So for those two years, hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of people died in that civil uprising.

And it all started with Helena and her partner, Party Poison.

So they’re a bit busy, to say the least, for those two years. They don’t have the luxury of time to try and carve out a future for themselves. For their whole lives, they were just focused on surviving, on trying to make it another day in this cruel universe dedicated to their eradication.

Every day was a constant, uphill battle. To survive to see the splendor of the sunrise of the next day and the sunset of the new night was a luxury not everyone could afford. It was hard enough to find time in the midst of a warzone to relax, to find comfort in each other’s arms, to make love with her wonderful partner, and to just enjoy each other’s presence. 

They had absolutely no plans for the future. The only plan they had was to survive another day, to wreck as much havoc before their untimely demise, to destroy as many bricks they can that BLi’s foundation is composed of. Their only goal is to destroy as much as possible, to bring awareness to what BLi was destroying, to show that perfection was not beautiful nor something that can be or should be acquired.

Frankly, even as a young child, she didn’t have much interest in having a family. She’s been living her life under the constant threat of atomic annihilation from pig bombs dropping out of the sky onto Baterry City, and if she didn’t die in nuclear fires, then there was always the Helium Wars that would chew her up. She always envisioned herself dying in a hail of bullets before she hit eighteen, to end up as another nameless corpse in the sea of blood off the shores of California.

A morbid belief, but one formed from accepting the nature of the reality she lived in. Countless of her friends and peers had fallen, crumbled amongst the frontlines well before she had joined the fight, and she watched countless more die before her eyes when she was in uniform. She simply never believed herself to be able to live past twenty, either because she was murdered on the battlefield, or perhaps she starved to death, or other entirely plausible scenarios she watched other people succumb to during the terrible era of the Helium Wars.

Yet here she was, almost twenty-one years old. Alive, still kicking ass with her adorable and equally badass partner.

Party Poison was on the verge of their twentieth birthday when she began to realise there was something… different about her. She’s been feeling an intense amount of fatigue, which she initially brushed off due to their many sleepless nights of strategizing for missions or dreams filled with terrors. Weirdly enough, despite the fact that there’s very little water in their scraps of rations, she’s been having to take more pisses than usual.

She doesn’t start to think too much about anything until nausea begins to settle in. Every morning, she wakes up absolutely exhausted with a stomach that feels like it’s tying itself into knots. Carefully, she extracts herself from Party Poison’s arms and makes her way as far as she can before throwing up whatever animal they managed to skewer for dinner last night. Although they’re both pretty light sleepers, considering the volatile situation they live in and the vulnerability of slumber, she’s gotten better at stifling the sounds of her throwing up.

As weeks continue to pass, she begins to add in symptom after symptom to an ever-growing list. Cramps, moodiness, bloating, swelling, heartburn- she keeps finding more and more things wrong with her. She’s terrified that she’s coming down with some sort of new sickness- the so-called “zone virus” has been traveling around, and while she knows it’s more like a terrible flu, she can’t help but wonder if perhaps she caught an evolved form of it.

But neither her nor Party Poison was prepared enough to handle her getting terribly sick. Finding proper medicine would be near impossible. They might be able to hit up a few of the desert dwellers lingering in the zones, but many of them are preferring to remain neutral and aren’t willing to help either side involved in the Analog Wars.

Helena doesn’t tell Party Poison about any of these weird symptoms. She knows they’re picking up that something’s off about her; after all, she’s a lot moodier and fatigued than usual. They’ve been keeping a peeled eye out for her, and she knows she’s probably causing them unnecessary stress, but she doesn’t want to end up being diagnosed with something uncurable.

She’s managed to keep everything under wraps pretty well. At least, she thought so, until Party Poison and Raven are away on a small supply mission, and she and Crow Claws are left alone to talk.

“So,” Crow Claws begins, twirling her thick black hair in her fingers. She’s quite a bit older than Helena or Poison, likely a different generation, but at first glance, she and Raven appear much younger than they are. Crow Claws was the commanding officer Helena, and eventually, Poison, served under during the Helium Wars. Helena is thankful every fucking day that Poison and her managed to form a gang with them, because they know way more about anything and everything than the two first starting off rebel teens. “How many weeks are you in, hm?”

Helena squints at her. “Huh?”

“You know, how many weeks pregnant are you?”

The question slams into her like a truck. She’s left breathless, completely unable to breathe at her inquiry. Crow Claws looks almost concerned for her before she seems to soak in her reaction. She’s smart at reading people, though Helena isn’t exactly a closed book at this revelation.

“Oh, you didn’t know, did you? I suppose you both went to war before they could teach you much about pregnancy, hm?”

She sucks in a deep breath. She took a mandatory health class back in middle school, but BLi is extremely abstinence-only in their teaching, so any sort of sex talk wasn’t truly informative. It left Poison and her with a lot of questions the first time they decided to switch from making out to something that required more skin involved.

“I’m not pregnant,” she stated, but with very, very little resolve and confidence. She pilfers through the memories of the pregnant mothers she lived next to in that shitty apartment back in Battery City, before she had been shipped off into a warzone. She tried to remember what meager health lessons she could from her time in school. It’s not much, but the little evidence she does have seems to stack up against that statement.

“Oh, honey, you have quite the bun in the oven. Nausea, cramping, moodiness, bloating?” Crow Claws tenderly places a hand on Helena’s stomach. And now that she looks at it, it does seem to be protruding a bit more than usual. “Trust me, I remember being pregnant before. And you are displaying every single symptom.”

Helena sobers a bit at that. She knew they had a kid before they both were forced into war. A little boy they were forced into giving up for adoption so they could go serve in a meaningless war. But Crow Claws seems rather ecstatic at the realization that she’s pregnant, so Helena tries not to dwell on her peer’s tragic past.

“I can’t be pregnant,” Helena states. “I can’t be pregnant, not during a fucking war. I can’t bring a child into this warzone. Hell, I’m not even sure I could raise one during peaceful, stable times.”

“Well, there’s no turning back now. We don’t have the medical knowledge nor materials for an abortion, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with the child.” She shrugs. “Personally, I think you and Poison would make wonderful parents.”

The prospect of having children wasn’t ever at the forefront of her mind. Sure, she knew that having sex meant there’d be a chance of having a kid, but she just sort of figured she’d end up dead before having one. And sure, she sometimes dreamt of a life with Poison when they were older and not fighting in a war, where they might have a kid or two and a few cats and a nice, warm house where her mom lived with them and Poison’s sister lived next to them, happy and healthy,

But that wouldn’t be a reality for years, if ever. And she was still pregnant. Several weeks pregnant if she was properly gauging the time.

She can’t back out of this now. There’s no possible way to. She’s stuck with this child until she has them, and then maybe they can give them up to a nice neutral family to give them the life Helena and Poison could never possibly provide on the frontlines. She just can’t stand the idea of raising a kid in this hellscape, of teaching this child what it means to starve and be sleepless and paranoid and understand what war is and what murder is and so on and so on.

But time marches on. She finds herself fantasizing a bit about keeping the child. She’ll place a hand on her stomach, wondering when the child will develop enough for her to feel it kick. She thinks of names for the child. She has a feeling it’ll end up being a girl, and at the moment, she’s attached to the name ‘Joan’.

She hasn’t been able to tell Poison yet. Crow Claws keeps chiding her into telling them, but she decides that she’s going to keep this a surprise. Party Poison’s twentieth is in three days, and she figures that’ll be as good of a birthday present as she can give them. Besides, she needed time to digest this before she would be able to tell them and actually plan out a proper future for this child of war.

So she eagerly waits for March 22nd to arrive, waiting for hours to pass by until she can surprise Poison with her little secret. She knows Poison’s been fretting quietly over her, knowing that she’s been acting different and experiencing odd symptoms. She just has to keep this up for a few more days.

But on March 21st, 2013, everything changed and all of her plans went out the fucking window.

They’re camping out in this dingy little pre-wars gas station that was long ago looted for anything valuable. But it has a roof and four walls, so it was really all they wanted from a shelter. It’s been serving as the base of their operations for a few months now, and while they knew they needed to be leaving it soon so BLi won’t track them, it was sort of nice to have a proper home to come back to, to wake up in.

Unfortunately, they really should have moved out when they said they would. Because their base gets compromised after a few exterminators and Dracs manage to follow them home; they manage to track their little makeshift home because they weren’t careful enough, and it costs them.

It all goes downhill from there.

Exterminator Korse leads the firefight. He’s the shiny new right-hand man to the director who does every word of her bidding without a second’s thought. He’s the perfect drone; not quite mindless, because he’s impeccably cunning, but he’s still willing to follow her directions to the t.

She remembers serving with him during the wars. He was a higher-ranking commander than even Crow Claws, so they never crossed paths very often, but she knows Party Poison and him managed to frequently meet quite a bit. 

In any case, Korse is leading the fight against their home. After a barrage of Dracs manage to force them outside the gas station, a huge gunfight begind to take place. Korse remains lingering in the shadows, too much of a coward to actively fight.

Helena hates to admit it, but she never felt a particular sense of self-preservation during fights like these. She had the drive to survive- it’s the only reason she was able to survive the first round of the Helium Wars. Yet she still couldn’t bring herself to care all that much about the idea of not surviving one of these gunfights or dying in a hail of bullets.

But now she’s not just protecting her life. She’s protecting another life, she’s protecting a child who’s future she’s fighting for as well. So she’s fighting viciously now, dirty and underhanded against any Drac that manages to cross her.

They all get split up from each other, which was their second mistake after not leaving that base sooner. It’s dangerous to get split up from your crew during a fight- after all, it completely defeats the purpose of having a crew. A killjoy gang gets formed so you can have people watching your back for you, to protect each other. You can’t survive by going it alone.

But now none of them have anyone to watch their backs. The Dracs have managed to infiltrate their usual positions and have wormed each other away from the rest. Dracs are extremely stupid, but when an exterminator of Korse’s caliber commands them, they do become quite the force to be reckoned with if only due to size and strategy.

A single scream fills the air. She already knows who it belongs to before she even turns around. She can’t let herself get distracted, not when she’s surrounded on all sides, not when the enemy could shoot her dead just like the comrade she knows has just died moments ago. But she’s only human, so she turns towards the source.

Raven is a mess of muddled limbs and puddles of blood. His mask is scorched and cracked, his legs twisted in unnatural angles, and his ribcage is smoking dangerously. He’s completely unmoving from his position on the ground, and Helena whispers a small prayer to the Witch that his soul will find peace in the afterlife. There’s no doubt in her mind that the man she thought of as a second father was dead.

The following sounds of laser blasts are frantic. Crow Claws is going absolutely ballistic over the death of her husband, trying to take down every single Drac within her sights. And for someone who isn’t particularly aiming, Crow Claws does manage to cause quite a bit of damage. Dracs fall to the grounds in bundles of white, littering the golden grains of sand with patches of snow.

But Crow Claws is completely distracted. Her vision is muddled with emotions, with hate and rage and desolation, and Helena hates that she isn't terribly surprised to watch her get shot. 

Crow Claws doesn’t fall to the ground that first shot, though. No, it takes six shots to bring her down. Helena knows this because she counted the barrage of lasers that managed to actually hit her, and watched as her body stumbled to the ground, as her raging wrath smoldered into ashes, as smoke drifted from her body and her gun tumbled out of her limp grasp.

Helena won’t lie- she’s downright terrified now. Two of her comrades have been very obviously ghosted right before her eyes, and they’re the two that have been fighting for over a decade longer than either Helena or Party Poison. If they managed a misstep, Helena knows it won’t be much longer before she or Poison follows suit.

She’s desperate to find her way back towards Party Poison. She can’t let them die separately if they’re destined to die in this fight. No, she wants to make sure she does her damnedest to protect her loved one before they go out in a hail of electric bullets. She wants her hand in theirs one last time, to see their eyes in the pool of blood they’ll be swimming in when the end comes reeling.

But she doesn't go far at all.

Korse manages to pick his way towards her. And it’s a completely unfair battle, facing him one on one, especially as some Dracs continue to shoot at her while she’s trying to focus on defeating him. It’s not a fair fight in the slightest, but war doesn’t give a shit about playing fair.

Korse does too much damage. He breaks her nose and definitely manages to sprain some of her ribs, if not straight up shatter them. She tries to dodge and weave and fight, but he moves way too quickly and the Dracs helping him certainly don’t make this easy. He sends three shots of pure, high voltage electricity to her stomach and she finds herself on the ground, staring up at the sky. Her stomach is sticky with red blood, and the sun beats unbearably as she tries to pick herself back up, tries to brush off the pain blossoming in her chest.

She’s not dead, so she has to keep fighting.

Dracs manage to grab hold of her arms. They yank her to her feet, and she’s surrounded on all sides by five Dracs. Three are holding her captive in their tight grips while the others have their guns jammed against her bruised rib cage, blasters humming.

Korse sends her a smile before glancing to her left. She hears a few blaster fires and as a smile grows on Korse’s face, she has an idea of what’s about to happen. Still, she forces herself to look, to confirm the worst event she’ll ever lay eyes on.

She’s watched countless of her peers die before. She’s watched friends and family starve to death during the famines that plagued the country while she was barely in middle school. She’s stumbled across the gangly, thin, malnourished corpses of those who weren’t able to find enough to eat. She saw countless soldiers die in the hospital she used to work for before becoming enlisted.

Hell, she’s lived through nearly four years of war. She watched so, so, so many of her fellow soldiers get blown up or shot or catch gnarly diseases. She’s watched her siblings get buried together in mass graves, watched as they became nameless corpses of a war that meant absolutely nothing. She’s seen death and decay up close and personal.

And yet, watching Party Poison get shot to death right before her eyes was by far the worst thing she has ever seen in her twenty-one years of living.

Shot after shot pierced Poison’s sides and stomach. It grazed their neck and their face and their hair, snagging chunks of their natural coloured hair. The gun they spent so much time painting patterns over falls out of their hand and she watches their body hit the sandy ground with a sickening crunch.

Party Poison is dead.

Korse leers at her, grabbing her chin and forcing her eyes away from their body, something she is grateful for yet simultaneously enraged at the fact that he has the audacity to touch her. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Tell me, how does it feel to have your life completely crumble before your eyes?”

“If you’re gonna fucking kill me, you better do it already before I break free.”

“Oh, we aren’t going to kill you. We don’t want to make a martyr of you, no ma’am.” He snaps his fingers. A sixth Drac moves into view, holding a Drac mask. She knows what he means to do, now. “No, we’re just here to turn you back into the pretty little soldier you used to be. You’ll be fighting on the right side once again, and this time, there won’t be a single thought of rebellion in your head because you won’t be capable of a single thought.”

“You can’t have me.” Her voice is filled with an unfathomable rage. Despite it all, it doesn’t waver, it doesn’t crack, it doesn’t betray an ounce of fear. “You can defile my body however you wish, but you’ll never steal my soul. You’ll never destroy the rage I feel for you with your masks or your pills.”

“There’s nothing left for you.” He jerks her head towards Party Poison’s lone body, smoking in the distance. “Might as well join the winning side.”

He lets go of her. The Drac with the mask moves ever closer, and she spits copper blood on Korse’s crisp white shirt. It doesn’t do her any good, but it is a satisfactory end.

As the mask is about to get yanked over her head, she mourns the death of the child she so desperately wanted to exist. Even if she and Poison couldn’t have cared for them, she still wanted to know that they existed, that they were out there having a better life than what she or Poison could have provided.

And she never fucking told Poison that they were going to be a parent. She waited too fucking long, and now they were too dead to learn that they were going to be a parent, that they were going to have a beautiful baby together. She knows in her heart they would have made a great parent.

When the mask gets shoved over her face, she doesn’t know two things.

One: Party Poison isn’t dead. They’ve been watching the entire standoff with Korse. They’re alive, but they’re quickly bleeding out on the desert floor, unable to help her, unable to move. They’ve been stuck there, lying on their ass as she gets Draced right in front of them, completely aware but equally completely helpless.

Two: her child will live. And she was right- her rage will live on, only through her child. She’s about to create a ticking time bomb that will destroy the very corporation she swore to dismantle, brick by brick.

The only thing she knows before a darkness and unbearable pain takes over her body is that she is going to die with the secret of her unborn child.

-

Alarms are blaring distantly, and the room is drenched in a flickering red light. Korse has long ago tuned out the ear-splitting sound and finds himself in the security room, searching for the intruders that have caused such disarray in the biggest, most secure BLi factory in all of Battery City and its surrounding zones.

The answer to who’s breaking in is already well known, thanks to the descriptions given by the Dracs who managed to escape their wrath with their lives. The Fabulous Killjoys.

They’ve been a thorn in Korse’s side for a little over a year now, and while Korse isn’t really supposed to be able to feel emotions, he does feel a certain disdain. Particularly, for Mike Milligram, who’s apparently going by the pseudonym Party Poison. The little rat was supposed to have died two years ago during the raid that resulted with the end of the Analog Wars, where Helena was captured and Draced. But the little rat managed to slip through their fingers, and that bit of luck has long since come back to haunt him as Mike Milligram formed the Fab Four and became dead set on crumbling BLi with his pesky three friends.

Right now, the Fab Four seem to be on a mission. And given where Mike Milligram and his sister, Emily Milligram aka Kobra Kid was at, it became abundantly clear what exactly they were after.

Well, in this case, it’s a who.

A tiny toddler resides in the room where Mike Milligram is racing towards. Emily is covering him as he speeds towards the very back of the hallway, both of them shooting down Dracs left and right. Korse knows he ought to be down there, attempting to fight off the infestation of disgusting killjoys. He could easily take out that desert born, Jet Star, and the child of those strange, older revolutionaries who were killed in that raid Helena was captured in, Fun Ghoul, considering he’d have the element of surprise.

However, he finds himself lingering in the security room. Frankly, this mission of theirs was a long time coming. The Girl they were trying to rescue was the by-product of a failed romance between Helena and Mike Milligram. In essence, that child was Helena’s and Mike’s. They’ve been keeping her locked up in Battery City to study her, considering she’s the first child born from a Draced mother.

It’s frankly a miracle that Mike Milligram hasn’t tried to get inside BLi’s headquarters, though Korse will admit, he is rather stumped by the fact it’s taken two years for him to try to recover his lost child. Mike Milligram is the epitome of a family man, so his personality seems to imply, and Korse is curious as to why he didn’t try to break in and save her before. It’s clear that they were able to find this information, given the fact that they’re here now, so if Mike had been looking for his child, he ought to have arrived here much sooner? 

Korse watches Mike Milligram break into the Girl's room, blasting the door off it’s hinges. He watches as he offers a hand to the tiny toddler locked inside, as he offers her something much more than just a hand. He watches as he offers her freedom, as he offers her the freedom to choose her own destiny. And he watches as her tiny hand grabs his, as her eyes shine with excitement and fear and awe at the beacon of colour before her.

But there's only one thing on Korse's mind when he watches their escape. Surprisingly, he’s not feeling much of the usual anger that flares within him at the sight of Mike. Instead, he’s feeling a strange inkling of curiosity as he watches Mike pick up the child and burst out of the room.

There's not a single flicker of recognition in Milligram’s eyes, there's not a name that escapes from his lips when he offers her freedom. Certainly, he ought to know the name of the child, ought to be ecstatic at the sight of his missing daughter? Is that not the emotion most parents would feel upon a reunion?

The thought suddenly occurs to him as he watches Mike shoot a Drac straight in the eye.

Mike Milligram doesn't know the child is his.

Of course not. Helena likely didn’t inform him of the fact she was pregnant- she likely didn’t even realise she was. Mike Milligram didn’t arrive earlier because he wasn’t aware of his child’s existence.

Yet still, he does not seem to appear to recognise the child is his. Korse is curious as to why they are tearing through BLi for this child if the ulterior motive isn’t the fact that she’s Mike’s child. He supposed he could find out straight from the source.

“Send more Dracs to section five,” he orders to one of the lower-ranking workers at the security desk. The man fumbles for his radio, and Korse leaves the room hearing the man’s voice carry out his orders.

He’s not moving all that fast, though he isn’t slow. He’s working his way towards where he anticipates Emily and Mike Milligram will appear from after that hallway in section three. He has a minute, give or take a few seconds, depending on how sharp Mike’s trigger finger still is after serving those wars.

Jet Star and Fun Ghoul are in his range. Admittedly, he isn’t very interested in them. Jet Star was a desert born, and thus none of Korse’s concern- its beneath him to even bother with that zone rat. Though Fun Ghoul has escaped from the city, it’s been too many years to properly correct him. Besides, while Korse would rather not admit this to his superiors for fear of having to be re-education, he didn’t have a personal vendetta against anyone except Mike Milligram.

He let him slip from his fingers once before. Korse will go through hell and back again to make certain he rectifies that mistake. Because officers of BLi don’t make mistakes.

He stays in the shadows a bit, watching Jet Star and Fun Ghoul obliterate part of the Drac squad. He’s fought them enough times to understand that the typical partnership was between Mike and Jet Star, and Emily and Fun Ghoul. He wonders if there’s a reason they decided to change the order.

Still, Jet Star and Fun Ghoul are demolishing the pack of Dracs with trained ease. There will be a few exterminators to take care of them soon, but Korse does idly consider picking them off himself. Instead, he stays on the edge of the fight, watching, waiting.

Emily appears from a staircase to the right. She’s sliding down the railing, zapping the surprised group of Dracs about to head upstairs. She brushes her hair out of her face before reloading her gun, the soft hum of electricity nearly drowned by the sounds of laser fires.

Mike follows close behind, shooting the Drac’s Emily missed. This must be the rendezvous point for the Fab Four before they escape back into the desert. The exit isn’t all that far off, and they have the object of their mission in Mike’s arms.

Korse decides that now is the time to intervene. He pushed himself away from the walls and made his way quietly towards Mike Milligram. His sister and him are working back to back, though Emily seems to be trying to cover for him as he cradles the toddler against his chest.

Korse sends a well-timed shot while Mike’s distracted by the barrage of Dracs. The laser nicks his shoulder, causing him to jerk back instinctively and bump his older sister. She remains relatively unphased and continues fighting while Mike’s face swivels to meet Korse.

"Mike Milligram," Korse coos. Mike stands up straighter, the fires in his eyes spitting out embers of disgust as he pulls the child closer to him, likely unconsciously. 

"You know damn well that isn't my name."

"It was the one you were born with, the one your late mother picked out for you. It's yours, whether you like it or not." He’s drawing Mike away from his sister, and it seems to be working. Emily is watching them with divided attention, her eyes flicking from the Dracs surrounding her to her brother. It’s almost cute, seeing that little protective instinct she has flare up as he pushes Mike away from her.

“Things change, Baldy.” Mike sends a few rounds his way. The child is watching Korse with wide eyes as Mike tries to keep her steady in his arms. “I’d make a crack about a receding hairline, but I’m pretty sure you’ve always been bald.”

“Your wit astounds me.” Not a technical lie. His ability to spit out wisecracks while staring death in the eyes is rather humorous, and Korse always looks forward to their little cat and mouse game and the banter that comes with it. “It’s a shame it can’t help you in a fight.”

“If this was a duel of wits, you’d be completely unarmed. You still are, really, but at least in a gunfight you have a little bit of a chance against me.”

“What are you doing here, Mike? Why risk the lives of your sister and your fellow cremates for that little child?”

Mike’s eyes narrow. “Kobra Kid is my brother. And you know damn well why we’re taking this kid.”

No, he really doesn’t, and that fact does rather dig under his skin. “Indulge me.”

“She’s the key to defeating you.” His voice holds an impeccable amount of confidence. Korse outright laughs at his words. His laughter is ignored. “Plus, she’s the kid of an old friend of Dr. D’s.”

There we go. Ah, this is all coming together. “Dr. Death Defying is still sending you on your little missions, hm? Still quite the little toy soldier.”

“It’s not the same, and you know it.”

A blast nicks Korse’s ears. He doesn’t feel it, but he does feel the blood beginning to dribble down his face. “You better get the hell away from my sibling.”

Korse turns a predatory smile towards Emily Milligram. She has a blaster aimed straight at his brain. He can feel Mike’s gun aimed at his spine as he spins to face her. “Emily Milligram.”

“Kobra Kid,” she growls. He often forgets she’s trying to pretend to be a boy now. 

“Emily.” 

“The second wave is about to arrive!” Jet Star hollers. “Hurry up!”

All three of them turn their attention to Jet. Ghoul and him are towards the exit of the room. There are still a few Dracs straggling about, but there’s many more laying on the ground in a bloody mess. 

Emily fires a round. It strikes Korse’s side as Korse tries to dodge it, and she starts to take off. “C’mon, Poison!”

She thinks he’ll follow her. And Korse knows he will, because he’ll follow her through hell and back, and she’ll do the same back, and so will their crew. It’s a loyalty that disgusts and confuses Korse to no end.

Mike stares up at Korse, edging away from him. His gun is aimed at Korse’s neck as he slowly walks backward like he’s trying to escape the clutches of a wild animal. Mike's eyes meet Korse’s.

Korse almost tells him, right then and there, as he cradles the child close to his chest and faces him down the barrel of his gun. His mouth remains shut, however.

It is far too kind of him to tell the truth to a matter that means little to him. Besides, he thinks it's probably much, much crueler to leave him in the dark. So he doesn't say a word.

Korse didn't need the DNA tests they had to confirm whose child this was. It was well known during the Analog Wars that Helena and Mike MIlligram were a couple. It is well known the two had deep romantic relationships. It wasn't hard to realise that the child Helena was pregnant with could only belong to one person.

Objectively, the child also had some of her father's features. She watched Korse with eyes the same shade and colour as her father’s, and she seemed to have his nose. She had Helena’s skin tone and hair texture, but she has Mike Milligram’s hair colour.

She doesn’t look quite like a carbon copy of Mike, but she’s similar enough that if you search for her features, you’ll see them on Mike.

Korse watches as Mike spins on his heels and sprints away from Korse. He oughtn’t be smiling, watching his sworn enemy about to escape from his grasp once again, with precious cargo no less, yet he still smiles as he chases after him. He knows the Fab Four are going to live another day.

Yet it simply feels good to have kept such a secret from Mike, knowing that this would tear him apart.

So he smiles at the prospect of keeping the most important fact of Mike’s life quietly under wraps even as the trans am disappears into the sunset.

-

The Girl has just turned four.

If Jet Star was to be frank, which he usually is, he’s pretty fucking surprised she’s managed to survive this long. None of the Fab Four knew how to take care of children. Hell, none of them have even seen a kid before.

Well, Kobra Kid was the only one who’s ever seen a baby before, but considering he was also a fucking baby when Party Poison was born since he’s barely a year older than Poison, he wasn’t really all that helpful. In fact, he actually ended up being the worst with children despite the fact that he’s the only crewmate who was an older sibling.

Jet Star himself was the younger brother out of two kids, so he never had to think much about children. Plus, none of his later gangs, before forming the Fab Four, included any children or had anyone in it that wanted to have kids. He always ended up being the youngest of his group until the Fab Four, where he suddenly became the older brother to three other kids.

Ghoul was raised in an orphanage in the Lobby, but he was too much of a loner to interact much with younger children, and he eventually ran away to the desert when he was ten, anyway. And Party Poison’s been a bit too occupied with serving wars to even think about children; Jet severely doubts there’s been much child-rearing on the frontlines of a war.

But they desperately want to keep her. Dr. D says she’s something important, and Party Poison seems to reverently believe that she’s the key to destroying BLi, so there’s no way they were going to give her up to some orphanage or a different crew. If there was anyone in this desert who could protect her and love her, it would be them. Besides, they’d all gotten rather attached the first day having her around- she was a cute little thing.

So they kept the little two-year-old and tried to raise her as best they could. Considering the lacking experience all of them have with young children, Jet likes to think they’re doing pretty dang well. She hasn’t turned out too fucked up yet (he hopes).

But as the Girl grows older, Jet begins to notice a few things. He has a sneaking suspicion Cherri Cola does, too, but he doesn’t bother voicing his theories to the older man. Cherri prefers to keep things to himself, and Jet understands.

The more the Girl’s features get defined, the more familiar they look. The shape of her eyes, the colour of her hair, her teeth, the shape of her nose, her laugh, the little freckles on her cheek. Jet Star’s seen all these things on someone else before. The more he looks, the more similarities he can find.

She looks almost exactly like Party Poison.

She’s not a complete copy, of course. The things that people latch on to, the more obvious physical traits, they aren’t Poison’s. She has a darker complexion, thicker and curlier hair, and a stockier build than Poison. In fact, most people assume that she’s related to Jet Star, which is annoying since they base that fact on their similar hair and nothing else.

But Jet Star’s been hanging around Poison for over three years, and he’s been raising the Girl since she was two. He knows both their faces like the back of his hand after living with them for so long. He knows them well enough to be able to identify all these small little details, to pick apart all these similarities.

Sure, he doesn’t actually have concrete proof, but Jet Star has a feeling, deep in his gut, that he’s probably right. And he’s always valued and trusted his instinct- out in the desert, you have to trust yourself, even if every logical fact is against you.

He knows Party Poison was pretty… fluid, back when they first met. He knows they got around, and they weren’t afraid to get around. It’s pretty plausible they’d have a child without knowing it.

Plus, Dr. Death Defying said the Girl was the child of an old friend of his. And Jet Star remembers the way Dr. D’s eyes ever so subtly glanced at Party Poison when he mentioned that, and he remembers the way Cherri refused to look at Party Poison during that conversation. There’s something going on, and he knows that Dr. D and Cherri know more than him.

There’s no point in prodding them, however. Dr. D likes to keep his secrets to the grave, and Cherri Cola will follow Dr. D through hell. He knows they’ll clam up and deflect any questions he bothers to bring up. So he just keeps his musings to himself.

Bloodlines don’t mean all that much in the desert, anyway. Kobra Kid and Party Poison might be blood siblings, but all of them have bonds that have forged a whole new family from living together. They’re all siblings, now. Even Ghoul, who tried to fucking mug them the first time they met.

But still, Jet can’t help but be a little curious over the Girl and her parents. She herself has no interest as of now, though the only information Dr. D’s given any of them about her parents is that her mother’s long dead. So she’ll write little letters and paint pretty pictures of her and the Fab Four for her mom to send through the Phoenix Witch’s mailbox, but she otherwise doesn’t seem to care much. She’s content with her siblings, for now. They’re the only family she has, after all.

A few days after the Girl turns four, Jet Star finds himself in the outdoor seating venue of the old diner, mulling over the Girl’s parents. He’s well past certain that Poison is her parent, but he does idly wonder about the mother, who’s apparently quite dead.

Party Poison is leaning against the railing, staring up at the sky. There’s a pensive look on their face which always ends up spelling trouble. Poison isn’t one to dwell on things for very long, nor do they tend to contemplate all that much. They want to live in the present and only in the present, and that sort of mindset has its own positives and repercussions.

But Jet knows that they have quiet days, when their thoughts are much too loud, where they can’t do anything but think. He likes to think that Party Poison is an actor playing this character- this cool and suave protagonist who has the best comebacks and who has no regrets. But sometimes Poison will break character, and sometimes they’ll just be Poison, that lost kid who somehow managed to become the leader of a revolution, twice.

So Jet leans against the railing next to them, slipping out his pack of cigarettes. “Carbon for your thoughts?”

Poison’s eyes shift from the radiated sky to Jet Star. They offer a cheerful smile yet their eyes carry a heavy weight to them as they gaze back at Jet. They hum noncommittally. “Don’t have enough to be worth a carbon.”

“Humour me.”

Poison hums again. They seem to almost be sizing up Jet Star, calculating their next move. Jet Star used to be a bit miffed at that, that Poison seemed to have such a blatant disability to trust others, but he’s become a bit more understanding. The two of them were raised in separate worlds. Poison’s been fighting in wars for years, and thus thinks in terms like a soldier. Showing weakness is something a soldier in the midst of a war zone can't afford.

But Poison’s been slowly breaking away from that soldier mindset. And Jet’s fairly certain that he’s the one they open up to the most. Poison and Kobra might be siblings, but a war does separate the two of them, and he knows Poison does harbour a slight resentment from having to go to war to take care of Kobra, to go to war in his steed. Poison would never say that to Kobra, because they adore him unconditionally, but it does make talking to him about certain issues harder.

Poison seems to have been thinking the whole time Jet’s been spiraling. Finally, they shift their weight and sigh, softly. The smile fades away into a wistful look, and Jet Star realises that Party Poison is about to be honest with him. Usually it takes a bit of back and forth, but Jet isn’t going to complain over this change of pace.

“If there had been no wars, if there was no such thing as BLi or killjoys, or this entire hell society, what do you think you’d do?”

Jet blinks. He thinks back on this, knowing that he needs to give a good answer. So he thinks it over a bit, chews up the question. He’s thought about this before, sure, but there’s a weight to Poison’s question that Jet decides he needs to properly think it over.

“I would have liked to go to art school,” he finally decides. “Learning everything yourself is fine, I guess, but it’d be nice to get a formal education, for general subjects and for art. Amusement parks always sounded like fun, too. I would've liked to go on a road trip or something to visit as many as I could with my sister. She was always a thrill seeker. I think she’d’ve liked roller coasters and stuff.”

That seems to satisfy Party Poison. They hum, nodding. “That sounds nice, honestly. Would be fun to see more of the country, see some places that aren’t all desert-y. Always wondered what a swamp would be like, or maybe see some mountains.”

“What about you?” Jet carefully asks. “What would you do if you hadn’t been a killjoy?”

Jet Star watches the lights twinkle in Party Poison's eyes. There's something so melancholic about them as they stare off into the distance, a tired expression perched on their face. Jet forgets how young they are sometimes, and at that moment, despite their war-torn, ancient eyes, Jet can't help but see a kid who grew up way too fast. Jet knows those kinds of eyes- he sees them in every mirror he looks at.

"If there hadn't been a war, if we weren't killjoys," Poison begins, picking their words carefully, restating Jet Star's question. "I think... I think I would have liked to have been a parent."

Poison draws circles on the railing. There's something shy in them as they speak, their cheeks a gentle glowing red in the veil of shadows the night draps over them. "Kind of silly, isn't it? The leader of this grand revolution just wants... a domestic life, I suppose."

"Not at all," Jet whispers, and Poison glances at him. There's a sharp look that passes over their face, and they relax ever so minutely.

"During the war, there was this girl that I... well, we were partners. Helena." 

Poison sang her name. Those three syllables said more than any description Poison could have possibly given him. They said more about how deep their love ran than any declaration they could have offered. Those three syllables, softly spoken in reverie and lovesickness and despair and hope, told a tragic love story in just one simple word. A three act play rolled into three syllables.

Jet didn’t need to be told Poison loved her, still loves her, will always love her. And he didn't need to be told that something terrible had happened to her. Those three syllables, that simple enunciation of a simple word, transforming the name into a single word story, turning her name into the texture of velvet and rose petals and gun powder. 

But Jet listens still.

"She was my wife, sort of. I mean, you know, as much of a married couple a person could be in the middle of a war. But she... she meant the world to me." She still does. "And I always imagined us with a kid together, maybe two. I don't know. But I just think it would have been nice. To be a parent."

Poison closes their eyes. Jet glances into the diner window where he sees the Girl curled into Ghoul's side. She’s trying hard not to fall asleep, and Jet knows why she’s stubbornly staying awake. She’s waiting for Party Poison to come back inside to tell her a little story before tucking her in, like they always do. And she loves hearing stories, but she especially loves stories from Poison.

“It’s dumb,” Poison says, quietly. “We have the Girl. But I guess I just want something more… stable. And maybe my own kid. She’s more like a little sister.”

Jet Star remains quiet for a few moments, thinking over their words. He sets a hand on their shoulder, catching their attention. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before puffing out a little ring. Poison watches, wide-eyed. They’re always impressed with Jet Star’s stupid smoking tricks he’s picked up from his twenty-six years of fucking around in the desert.

“It’s not dumb at all,” Jet finally states. “Lots of people want to start their own families with their partner. And you aren’t able to have that, at least not with Helena. It’s not dumb at all to wish that you could. A domestic life isn’t a bad one.”

Poison sinks into their hands, appearing almost relieved at Jet’s words. They probably thought Jet would poke a bit at their longing for a simpler life, but Jet knows better than to mock such a sad dream. Besides, Jet would be lying if he said he didn’t dream of a more domestic life, too. He wouldn’t trade this life for another, because the life of a killjoy might be hard and short, but it’s full of freedom. But he does sometimes wish for some stability.

“Thanks,” Poison states. “Maybe in another life, I’ll get my wish.” There’s a softness in their voice as they whisper, “Because I know I’ll meet her again, in any life. And I know I’ll choose her again.”

Jet Star’s always been a sap for romance, always cries while reading trashy romance novels, and he almost tears up at Poison’s quiet words. Instead, he says, “Who knows? But if this means anything to you…” Jet knocks his shoulder into Poison’s. “I think you’d make a pretty great parent. And I bet the Girl would agree with me.”

Poison smiles, soft, quiet. There’s no teeth to it, not like those flirty smiles they toss, or those plastered on plastic ones they wear when they’re trying to pretend everything’s fine when everything’s falling apart, when they’re trying to act like the perfect, untouchable revolutionist the desert people desperately want them to be. It’s genuine and tired and almost vulnerable, a word Jet has a hard time associating with the hard headed sharpshooter Poison likes to play as. It makes Jet let his lips curl up a bit at the sight, and they’re both grinning softly at each other.

“That really does mean a lot to me,” Poison admits. “Thanks for listening, Star.”

Jet smiles brighter at the nickname. Party Poison’s the only one who ever calls him that, besides his long dead mothers. Jet doesn’t say that, of course. “Always.”

They begin to step away from the rail. “It’s getting late, so I better go tell the Girl her bedtime story. I know she gets super fussy if I don’t tell it.”

Jet Star watches them turn their back on him. For a moment, Jet Star considers telling them what evidence he’s collected, what theory he has about the Girl. He considers telling them what’s likely a true fact, knowing that he has a name behind the Girl’s probable mother.

He could bring Poison’s dreams of being a parent to life. The domestic life Poison will keep wasting wishes on does exist, at the very tips of their fingers, right within their reach. All Jet has to do is spill a few words, and Poison might realise the Girl they saved is their own flesh and blood.

But Jet doesn’t say a word.

He just watches as Party Poison slips inside the diner. He watches through the window as Party Poison picks the Girl up from her spot next to Ghoul and swings her around a bit, spinning in a circle. Her giggling is loud enough for Jet to pick up, and Poison is already spinning a grand tale just for her from the way their lips are moving and their free hand is waving as they speak. The two disappear into the hallway towards the Girl’s room, and something icy plucks at Jet’s heart while watching that tender scene.

He doesn’t have any real proof that they’re related, and he doesn’t want to get Party Poison’s hopes up for something that might not be real. A killjoy lives off of hope, but it’s equally important for that killjoy to remember the reality of the situation they live in. Jet Star couldn’t bear the thought of being wrong and watching Poison’s hopes crumble to pieces.

Besides, even if they don’t know that they’re blood-related, Poison still has the Girl in their life. They’re still taking care of her as if she was their child, and she practically is at this point, related by blood or not. They raise her and love her and give her everything they can to ensure she has a decent childhood. They all do, of course.

So Jet Star isn’t going to bring it up. He’ll keep his observations to himself until either he’s proven right or wrong. Hopefully, Poison will find the truth, through Cherri’s inability to keep a secret or maybe they’ll even figure it out. 

But Jet wouldn’t dare give them even an inkling of false hope for something as precious as their dream to have a family of their own. They’ve had enough of their dreams crushed before their eyes, they have had their hopes shattered thousands of times before. Jet doesn’t want to be the cause of a heartache that was entirely avoidable.

And so, Jet Star keeps his lips sealed tight.

-

Show Pony’s used to knowing things they definitely shouldn’t know. Their whole shtick is acting as a spy- they frequently go on undercover missions to try and dismantle BLi from the inside out. They’re a damn good actor who’s equally damn good at coercing information from people, and they’re also good at simply finding the right time to listen in on the right information.

They’re a spy, through and through. So it’s a habit of theirs to make sure to avoid squeaky floorboards and to keep their breath quiet and to maybe listen in on the voices in another room. Eavesdropping has become a bit of a second nature, and while it’s usually not intentional, they do feel a bit bad about it. After all, they learn a lot of shit this way.

They keep racking up so many fucking secrets. Hot Chimp has a tattoo on her ass. Newsagogo doesn’t believe in frogs. Dr. D and Tommy Chow Mein are half brothers. Tommy Chow Mein fucked Korse before they both went to war and eventually fought on different sides during the Analog Wars. Cherri Cola met the Phoenix Witch. Jet Star watched one of his moms kill the other one after getting Draced. Ghoul’s the son of Crow Claws and Raven, two old souls a part of the original killjoy gang. Kobra Kid, while he parades as a goth, actually listens to hardcore, trashy scene and dance music and doesn’t actually know any “emo” or “metal” bands, and would kill them if they told anyone that fact.

Show Pony knows so much shit on every single one of their friends. But they know how to keep a secret better than how to keep a lover. They know how to stay quiet better than they do in bed. They know when to speak up and when to stay silent.

There is information important to their missions. There is information important to use as blackmail. There is information that’s just downright interesting. And then there’s information that’s completely unimportant.

Show Pony knows what to do with all the information they acquire. Every secret they collect, they file it away. To use in their missions, to use as blackmail, to think about later. They know what they’ll do with it, even if the action is just doing nothing.

But there’s one single tidbit of information they can’t make up their mind about.

They live with Cherri Cola and Dr. D, when they’re not delivering messages for the good doc or crashing parties in Battery City pill dispensaries. They hear a lot of their conversations because they live in a fucking shack, so the walls aren’t exactly thick. Cherri doesn’t exactly know how to keep secrets, either. He’s ruined a lot of surprise birthday parties because of his big mouth.

Plus, Cherri and Dr. D argue. A lot. Which means Cherri will start to yell, which means Pony doesn’t even have to strain their ears to listen in. Cherri’s a naturally passionate person, and unfortunately, the only person in this desert with clear cut morals and an honest streak. Plainly put, he’s a nice fucking guy.

Dr. D, on the other hand, operates only through shades of grey. Dr. D isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, isn’t afraid to sacrifice as many lives as he sees fit to fulfill whatever his goal is. He’s not a terrible person, by any means. He’s offered Pony a home and support and friendship. But he’s not really a good person, either.

So Cherri and Dr. D end up clashing a lot, because they have such different morals.

And every time Party Poison and their little gang come swinging by, Pony always hears the same old argument get rehashed. It gets worse when the Girl happens to pop by as well, and even more when Party Poison and the Girl interact in even the slightest bit.

So Show Pony learns this single fact very quick:

Party Poison is the Girl’s parent.

Which, all things considered, wasn’t necessarily all that surprising. Show Pony served in the Helium Wars alongside Poison and Helena all those years ago, and helped them out in the Analog Wars as a spy mucking about in Battery City. Show Pony wasn’t as around as Cherri or Dr. D, since they usually went on undercover missions, but they were still around enough to have comforted Party Poison during multiple breakdowns over Helena’s Dracing. They were all friends.

And when Show Pony first laid eyes on the Girl, it wasn’t exactly hard to see the similarities between her and Helena. They had the same darker skin, same thick curly hair, same stocky build, and the same jawline. There were a lot of blatant similarities that were hard to ignore.

And Dr. D always let out a few sly hints over her lineage. Party Poison never picked up on them, simply because they weren’t looking, but Show Pony certainly did. The Girl was the child of “an old friend who had an untimely demise”. Not exactly hard to picture Helena as the mom.

And who was Helena in love with?

Party Poison.

So the fact isn’t really all that surprising when you put the pieces together. But Show Pony remembers lying on the couch in the living room, listening to Cherri and Dr. D fight yet again, and they remember hearing that fact for the first time. They remember going breathless at the way Cherri shouted that simple little fact. 

But that was three years ago. Show Pony really should have made up their mind over what exactly they should do with this information. But Pony understands both sides of the argument.

Dr. D doesn’t want to tell them because they don’t want Party Poison to get sidetracked from the real mission at hand- to defeat BLi. Dr. D didn’t even want the Fab Four to keep the Girl in the first place, really- the Fabulous Killjoys and Dr. D had a strained relationship for quite a while when they expressed interest in keeping her. 

Dr. D wanted her saved, because he knew he owed it to Helena and even Party Poison. But he didn’t want to keep her so close to the Fabulous Killjoys, because he knew they’d get attached and distracted from their goal. She would just be another target and more collateral.

He refuses to tell Party Poison because he knows they’ll get sidetracked with the fact that the Girl is their daughter. He knows they’ll get distracted with the grief over Helena all over again, and that distraction will fucking cost them- they’ll get themselves killed. They’ll do something stupid, like try to save Helena, or they’ll give up being a killjoy to be a better parent.

Cherri, however, is adamant in telling them. This isn’t their secret to keep, this isn’t information to have and never tell. It’s within Party Poison’s right to know who their fucking child is.

The Girl is their own flesh and blood. The Girl is the last piece of Helena in their life. They deserve to know the truth, and it isn’t fair to keep this from them.

Truthfully, morally, Show Pony agrees with Cherri. Because this isn’t their secret to keep, because Poison deserves to know that they have a child. And really, Poison deserves to have some good news for once in their life. 

But Show Pony does understand the importance of their mission. And Show Pony does understand Party Poison’s character. Because behind that suave and confident and strategic leader is a kid who will throw away everything they have for their family. And if they have even an inkling of a location on Helena, if they have even a hope that she might still be alive thanks to the Girl having been born, they’re going to fucking take it.

Like it or not, the Fabulous Killjoys have become something important to this desert. Where the original killjoys sparked the fire, the Fabulous Killjoys are fanning the flames. They’re spreading this hatred against BLi like a virus, and because of that, their popularity has increased almost dramatically. The desert idolizes all of them, believes them to be the next messiahs who will destroy BLi and free them all.

They can’t afford to let Poison go on some suicide mission for Helena, or disappear from the rebel cause to properly raise the Girl. They can’t let Poison throw away everything they all worked hard for.

So Show Pony understands why they shouldn’t tell Poison, because Poison will absolutely go off the deep end with either grief or fear or revenge, and they’ll absolutely do something reckless.

Show Pony keeps quiet then, because they can’t decide what to do. 

It’s a cause of turmoil for Show Pony, frankly. They’re under no obligation to keep this a secret after all- Cherri may have made a promise to Dr. D to keep his mouth shut, but Show Pony did not. They have the freedom to choose, they have the choice here, and they don’t know what the right one is. 

Show Pony doesn’t have the moral purity Cherri has- hell, every skill set they have is fundamentally lying, cheating, and killing. But they also have lines they won’t cross unlike Dr. D, and this situation is pushing it.

They don’t make up their mind until they’re already three years deep in this secret.

The Girl turned five a few weeks back. Party Poison brought her over to hang out with Show Pony while Kobra Kid, Jet Star, and Fun Ghoul went on a small supply run. Party Poison wasn’t with them because they still had a broken arm from a clap a week back, on a solo mission at Hot Chimp’s night club. They’ve heard enough fanatical tales spun about that event to understand that Poison is lucky to have made it out with their life, let alone just a broken arm.

But in any case, this meant that Party Poison was stuck being babysitter to the Girl. And since Show Pony had just gotten themself untangled from a huge undercover op in Battery City, Party Poison of course wanted to hitch a ride over to the radio head’s station.

Show Pony loves all of the Fabulous Killjoys. If they’re honest, they find a bit more comfort with them than they do with Hot Chimp or Newsagogo or Cherri Cola or Dr. Death Defying. The Fab Four are their age, and they act like it, too. They’re fun to hang around.

They love Fun Ghoul’s mischief and his tendency to cause various problems, all on purpose. They love Kobra Kid’s sharp snark and the banter they often slip into. They love Jet Star and all the stories he loves to share, all his rough edges but his genuine kindness.

But admittedly, there’s something that always draws them back to Party Poison.

It’s because they’re just so much alike. They both served in those damn Helium Wars, in those dammed Analog Wars. They were children of war, raised to die, and nearly did countless times for a cause they didn’t believe in. Jet was desert born, Ghoul managed to run away long before he could get drafted, and Kobra was way too sick to become a soldier. 

They both knew Helena, and when she was captured, they both grieved. They’ve both lost a lot, and they ended up with pretty similar coping mechanisms.

So Show Pony always gets drawn back towards them, and always finds themself willing to partake in whatever shanagins they’ve got planned.

Besides, Show Pony loves the Girl to bits, too. She’s got Helena’s puppy dog eyes and Poison’s pitiable younger sibling look that makes her a deadly force to be reckoned with. Show Pony loves her because she has each of the Fab Four’s best qualities- she has Kobra Kid’s wit, Fun Ghoul’s excitement for adventure, Jet Star’s kindness, and Party Poison’s courage.

So when Party Poison and the Girl beg Show Pony to take them to the crash track to watch the crash queens fly through the canyons, Show Pony says yes. Who are they to deny their best friend and their favorite niece (Jet Star’s been calling them a wine aunt, and the Girl’s been catching on) the time of their life? It wouldn’t hurt to have some fun, to relax, to see Party Poison laugh freely again.

Really, it was supposed to be an easy day, too.

All Show Pony wanted for them was a good time. They know being a killjoy constantly wears down even the strongest of people. And Party Poison is pretty goddamn strong- they’ve been serving on the frontlines of war since they were sixteen, younger than Show Pony, and exposed to brutal combat much more than them, too. They’ve seen a lot of shit, and Show Pony admires them for still remaining a fun spirited, heart of gold, charismatic kid. 

They’re a good person, a fun one at that, but Show Pony’s noticed their laughs are far and few between, and their smiles aren’t reaching their eyes. Show Pony’s not just gonna stand by and let that happen.

Besides, the Girl could use a good time, too. After all, the raid that broke Posion’s arm was still pretty fresh in her head, and Show Pony knows that that wouldn’t have been a pretty memory for her.

But for some reason, the Witch just can’t seem to let any of the Fabulous Killjoys have a good fucking time.

They go to the crash tracks, Show Pony driving Cherri’s shitty truck. The crash tracks are both a sports race and a fair all in one. Usually, there’s a huge race during the summer solstice to celebrate the holiday of the Witch, but it’s still bustling and full of games and treats and cars even during it’s slower seasons. 

They watch the cars speed off into the distance, dust kicking up in the still desert air. It’s like watching a rainbow race across the sky as all the different coloured cars zoom across the sandy dunes. And while they wait for the cars to come back, for a winner to be declared, they fuck sround in the fair area.

Technically, it’s really just a car show. This is where the motorbabies pull out their sickest car mods yet. So Poison and Show Pony and the Girl peruse the area, ogling some of the kickass cars people have managed to mod the shit out of. A bunch of these people used to be engineers during the wars or weapon manufacturers, so they know their way with tools.

Unfortunately, huge crowds like these always spell trouble. BLi loves to target huge events like these so they can launch huge massacres, and while people are usually pretty tight lipped about the location of the event and the specific dates and times, there is the occasional wave head or Ritalin Rat who will sell out to any BLi official that can promise them some pills in return for their information.

And as it happened to be, a wavehead to the east just told three scarecrows and a pack of Dracs where and when the next crash track festival would be.

Just their fucking luck.

So while they’re trying to figure out how to finance the cost of the kick ass green sports car that also has a sun roof, everything goes to fucking shit.

“Mom and Dad are home!” someone screams. Immediately after, laser fire scorches the crisp air, and Show Pony can already see bodies start to pile up from a distance as a wave of white comes into view. They’re about to shuffle Party Poison and the Girl back towards Cherri’s truck when they spy Poison fishing out their gun.

By the time Show Pony tries to tell them they should leave, Poison’s already taking the shot. They manage to snag a Drac that was trying to harass a soap merchant at the corner of the marketplace. So Show Pony grumbles a bit to themself and then takes out their own gun and they join the fray.

Which, really, was a genuinely stupid idea by everyone involved. Show Pony was a great spy, there’s no doubt about that, but they're not really all that great in combat. Their aim isn’t all that great and while their speed is pretty decent, their brute force and ability to time dodges isn’t. It’s why they became a spy, really- they couldn’t fight for shit, but they sure knew how to talk and how to charm.

And while Poison may have been a soldier with dangerous precision and accuracy, they also had a broken arm and a scared little kid to watch over during a fight. The odds aren’t ever in anyone's favour in the desert, but handicaps like these can make even the best fighter subject to failure.

So Pony is cursing themself for letting the three of them get swept up in a fight, and they know if anything happens to Poison or the Girl, or god forbid both, the rest of the Fabulous Killjoys are going to make Pony wish they had died in those fucking wars. The Witch has more sympathy than those fuckers do when someone’s been hurt, especially when either of the babies of the group were.

To be fair to both of them, they do manage to do a lot of damage. Party Poison focuses on covering the Girl, making sure she’s not going to get hurt in the crossfire, and Show Pony covers both of them. There’s quite a few dead Dracs being left in their wake, but Show Pony’s stomach still churns with every killjoy body they find. It never does get easier; Show Pony’s glad their sympathy for the dead hadn’t deteriorated over the years like others. 

“We need to go,” Show Pony shouts, hoping to god Party Poison will fucking listen. But either Party Poison can’t hear them or they chose to ignore them, because they only continue to trudge deeper into the firefight, bridging the gap between them and the three exterminators shooting up a merchant’s stand.

A small fire is beginning to spark up at the end of one of the stalls. The exterminators have their eyes set on Party Poison, who’s making sure to keep the Girl behind them and protected as they face the three exterminators from a distance.

Party Poison still manages to do some damage despite being in charge of the Girl. They take down one of the exterminators, nailing that bastard right in the head when she gets distracted with trying to antagonise a fleeing killjoy to her left. They try to keep watch over the Girl as best they can while the two exterminators linger ever closer.

But the Girl’s only five. She doesn’t really understand the mechanics of a firefight, doesn’t understand all that much. So she starts to wander away from Party Poison’s wall of protection, trying to get away from the loud gun fires and all the sour electricity and the sizzling heat of the sun.

One of the exterminators spots her trying to pick through a pile of debris to head towards a still functional merchants stall. This time, he pulls the pin on a little white tin and throws it as hard as he can. The item lands only a few feet away from the Girl, who eyes it curiously.

Show Pony wants to scream at her to get away, but there’s no fucking time. That’s a grenade.

It explodes with a loud bang. The heat scorches Show Pony’s skin, who’s still quite a bit away from the detonation origin. They shoot off the Dracs trying to sneak up on them and they scurry as fast as they can to the center of the ring of char.

She can’t be fucking dead, shit, shit, shit-!

There, in the center of ash is a lone, curled up figure. It’s much bigger than the Girl, covered in soot and bright red blood that’s gushing from gnarly burns. Their clothes are shredded and burnt to a crisp.

The flaming red hair that’s still flickering a bit with literal fire explains who the figure is.

Show Pony yanks Party Poison on to their back, flipping them over. The Girl goes tumbling with them since Poison still has their arms latched around her tiny frame, causing Poison to moan in pain as the Girl hits their chest. While the Girl has a few burn marks where her skin wasn’t covered, she’s in otherwise pretty good condition.

Party Poison, however, was not.

It’s pretty clear. They’re moaning in pain, something they rarely do since they have this nasty tendency to hide whatever pain their feeling, pretending to be an unbreakable soldier.

Their eyes are glassy and completely unfocused, not at all seeing anything in front of them. They’ve got a concussion, and it’s taking all their will power not to fade into unconsciousness. There’s burn marks all along their back, vicious, vicious red blotches where the fire of the blast licked their skin with flaming forked tongues. Blood lathers them like they bathed in a river of blood.

Show Pony understands what happened.

Party Poison saw the grenade and reacted. There wasn’t time to get out of the way of the blast zone, so Poison held her close to their chest and used themself as a shield between her and the hellfire that bursted from that sick bomb.

“You’re willing to die for her, huh?” Pony whispers, pushing back their sticky, ashy bangs to look into their eyes. They blink, moaning softly in pain, and almost don’t answer.

“My… kid…,” they croak. The Girl is crying, leaning over them, and her tears drip down their jacket as they fall. She's holding on to their arm, clearly terrified.

Show Pony nearly lets the words slip right out: “She is your kid. That’s your daughter, Party Poison. That’s Helena and your’s daughter.”

But they don’t.

Bloodlines don’t matter in the desert, not anymore. It’s a bond that ties you- experiences and memories. Not blood. 

Party Poison was willing to die for her in that moment. They were going to willingly sacrifice their body and soul for her, because they love her. They don’t know that she’s their kid, they don’t know that they’re related, they just know that that’s the little kid they adopted, that that’s their little kid. And they were still willing to die for a child that was by all accounts not theirs.

Poison doesn’t need to know. Because the Girl is already their daughter in their eyes, anyway.

So Show Pony goes back to fighting off those exterminators. They aren’t particularly hard to defeat since they’re terrible at dodging despite their decent aim. They don’t exactly require Pony’s full attention, so Show Pony is able to hear the Girl whisper stories to Party Poison as they nod off into unconsciousness, as their skin blisters over in the desert sun, as their blood clots and their body nearly begins to rot.

Show Pony makes up their mind that day, that hot day in June. When Party Poison is lying in the desert, bleeding out from saving the Girl from a grenade, with their back littered in shrapnel and burns of harsh degrees and the Girl is sitting right next to them, whispering little stories while Poison breathes pained breaths- Show Pony makes up their mind.

It’s not their secret to tell. Show Pony isn’t even supposed to know this. And Show Pony won’t tell, because really, blood doesn’t matter anymore. Not when they already see each other as daughter and parent, as something different than siblings. Not when they’re already willing to sacrifice everything they have, their body and soul and more, for one little girl.

No, it’s up to Cherri to decide whether Poison should hear the truth. 

So Show Pony keeps their lips sealed when they gaze back at that sight, the Girl crouched beside Poison, whose hair gleams in the blinding sunlight. They don’t breathe a word of the truth they hold.

-

When Dr. D pulls Cherri Cola aside the day the Fabulous Killjoys are set to break into Battery City to save the then two year old child they would all come to know as the Girl, Cherri was, of course, suspicious at best.

“So are you finally going to explain to me why the hell you are sending our friends on a mission to save some random baby?” Cherri leans against the doorframe, purposely scuffing his cowboy boots against the thinning paint. “Like, I’m all for rescue missions and such, but it’s a little out of character for you to care about some baby. And you know I’m not like those other kids- I’m not just gonna blindly follow you. They won’t either, but they don’t ask for as much of an explanation as I do. ‘Child of an old friend who had an untimely demise’ isn’t enough for me.”

Dr. D hums absently. “Does the name Helena Milligram mean anything to you?”

Cherri blinks. Dr. Death Defying definitely already knows the answer to this. “Of course. I served in the same battalion as her during the Helium Wars. She and Poison and I, we fought together. She’s like a little sister to me. Doc, you know that.”

“Then you remember what happened March 21st, 2013? The raid?”

Cherri Cola’s blood froze.

He wasn’t there for the actual fight, of course. Since the absolving of the Helium Wars, Cherri resolved to never touch another gun. That’s a moment in time where the only person who lived to tell the tale is Party Poison. But Cherri Cola certainly remembers what Poison whispered to him after Cherri stumbled across their bloodied near corpse two miles away from the original shootout, having crawled as far as they could to avoid getting captured by the body disposal crew.

That was the day Crow Claws and Raven died, and that was the day Helena was Draced. And that was the day Party Poison swore a vengeance bloodier than the shape they were in that day Cherri Cola found them, drowning in their own blood as their skin blistered over from the sun's relentless heat.

“Of course,” Cherri begins, softly. “I was the one who found Party Poison curled up next to the mailbox right after that fight. It was the raid that killed Crow Claws and Raven and it was the raid that Helena got Draced in.”

“Then you might be interested to know that there weren’t just four killjoys in that raid. There were five.”

Cherri squints. “What the hell are you on about? The Killjoys only had four members, and Party Poison only mentioned what happened to Helena and Crow Claws and Raven.”

“You saw Helena during that time period. She was always pretty nauseous during those last few months and somehow was gaining weight despite the lacking resources.” Dr. D waggled his eyebrows. “And, well, birth control wasn’t and still isn’t widely available.”

Cherri Cola would be grossed out if things didn’t happen to be clicking while Dr. D spoke. “Helena…. She was pregnant?”

Dr. D nodded. “She was probably about two months pregnant with a child, give or take a few weeks, when she got Draced. Crow Claws told me.”

“She… she has a child?”

“The child our friends are about to steal is the first child born from a Draced person to not only survive, but also be perfectly healthy. BLi is studying her to understand more about the effects of having a Draced mother will have on the child.”

“The kid the Fabulous Killjoys are about to take… is Helena’s?”

“You’re correct,” Dr. D confirms, his voice soft.

“So that means….”

“That means that kid is also Party Poison’s.”

Cherri Cola’s breath stutters. His eyes widen, and he glances down at Dr. D. “This is great! Party Poison always wanted a kid! Did you tell them already?”

“No, and we’re not gonna tell them.”

“What?!”

“Party Poison’s too busy to take care of a child. You think any of those kids are prepared to care and love and provide for a kid? They’re leading a revolution, they have other things to attend to.” 

"This isn't our secret to keep," Cherri Cola argues, trying desperately to keep his voice down. The Fab Four are still loitering around, preparing to go on the mission. He can hear Ghoul’s maniacal laughter from outside. "You know damn well we shouldn't be keeping this from them."

"It isn't good to distract them. Besides, blood doesn't mean much in the desert." Dr. D shrugs.

“But it does, in cases like this. Found family is important, but so is this. They deserve the ability to choose, Dr. D. If they don’t want the kid, that should be their choice. You can’t make it for them.”

“I will.” Dr. D stares him dead in the eyes. “Party Poison is well known for diving head first into things, led only by their emotions. Living by the heart has its pros and cons, but right now, that’s just going to make them reckless and it will get them killed. You remember what happened after the raid that stole all their friends. They tried to become a suicide bomber and only Pony was able to talk them out of it.”

Dr. D sighs, heavy. “If they have even half a suspicion that Helena is still alive, that she might be salvaged, that they might be able to save her soul, Poison will take it. And that’s only going to end up with a dead Party Poison, and likely enough, all of their crew dead, too. You know those kids will follow Poison to the afterlife and beyond.

“So I need you to make me a promise, Cherri Cola. Promise me you won’t ever tell Party Poison the Girl is theirs. I need you to trust me that it’s better this way.”

Cherri Cola is struggling for the right answer over this. Because he sort of understands Dr. D’s reasoning, but it feels like such a shitty thing to do. And Dr. D is awaiting an answer impatiently, and Cherri has very few options before him.

So he makes a decision he will regret to the day he dies.

“I promise,” he finally answers. “But I can’t promise that I’ll actually keep this promise.”

Dr. D glances out the window. Party Poison is perched on the hood of the trans am, telling some long winded story to Jet Star, who’s clearly not listening while he’s working underneath the car. Ghoul and Kobra Kid are wrestling not too far off, and Ghoul is trying desperately not to cry uncle as Kobra yanks his hair. 

“That’s good enough for me,” Dr. D finally says.

And for the next four years, Cherri Cola and Dr. D constantly bicker with each other over this situation.

Every time the Fabulous Killjoys come over to the radio station, the two engage in shouting matches over the secret they are keeping from their closest friends. Doesn’t Party Poison deserve to know that that’s their child? Doesn’t Kobra Kid deserve to know he has a niece? Don’t they deserve to realise there’s family right in front of them?

Cherri Cola and Dr. D have always had a strange relationship. Dr. D has no functioning morals whereas Cherri’s compass is rigid and inflexible. And Cherri knows that by keeping this awful secret, he’s breaking his own moral code.

They’ve had their spats before, certainly. Cherri Cola became a pacifist who won’t even look at a gun, and Dr. D only keeps working in extremes. Their ideals constantly clash and conflict and yet despite everything, they’ve managed to stay friends for years and years.

And for the most part, they do manage to stay friends. But every time Party Poison comes along, or anytime the Girl happens to get dropped off at their shack for baby sitting while they do something potentially stupid, Cherri Cola’s righteous anger flickers to life.

To the day Cherri dies, he still has no idea why Dr. D told him the truth. Maybe Dr. D was hoping Cherri would tell them anyway, maybe he wanted someone else to burden such a secret with, maybe he didn’t want the secret to die with him. Cherri doesn’t understand that man’s thought process, and he never will.

Still, despite his grappling over the morality of refusing Party Poison the information over their own child, Cherri still hasn’t told them after four years. Cherri just figures that they’d have time, that there would always be another tomorrow for him to finally, finally decide whether Party Poison should know, whether the Girl deserves to know.

The answer is yes, and yet Cherri never managed to say a single word to them.

And then, the worst day of everyone’s lives happens:

The Girl is captured in a nasty clap.

They storm into Dr. D’s shack right after, fires shooting through their veins. They look like absolute shit, like they all went through hell and back, physically and emotionally.

Jet Star’s missing an eye. Kobra Kid’s arm is wracked in burns. Fun Ghoul has an awful scar around his mouth. Party Poison’s neck is still bleeding out.

“What the hell are you doing?” Cherri asks, yanking Party Poison away from the blaster battery they’re trying to pick up. They’re hands are shaking too much for them to actually be able to snatch it.

“We lost the Girl.” Poison’s voice shakes, rattles, hoarse. Cherri’s never heard it shake before. “And we’re going to get her back.”

Cherri blinks. He doesn’t know the details yet, doesn’t understand what happened or what they mean. All he sees is Kobra Kid wrapping up his own hand while Show Pony tries to tend to Jet Star’s eye and Fun Ghoul is snatching up gas can after gas can from the little supply shack next to the radio station.

Poison’s still trying to pick up the battery. Cherri grabs their wrist, trying to get them to focus. Party Poison whips their head up to stare at Cherri, their eyes full of a raging, white hot fire. Their skin is so hot Cherri feels as if he’s going to burn himself by touching them.

“What happened?” Cherri tried again, his voice softer.

Poison yanked their arm out of his grasp and they shuffle away a few inches. They grab the battery this time, clearly trying to stifle their shaking hands with something to hold, trying to go back to pretending that they’re untouchable and literally unshakeable. They gaze back at their crew mates, an unidentifiable expression crossing their features.

Jet Star’s wearing an eye patch now, fumbling with his gun. Kobra Kid is moving some explosives into the trunk, taking over Ghoul’s spot as Pony tries to treat Ghoul’s face. Ghoul’s fighting tooth and nail to keep going, though, and Show Pony looks seconds away from knocking him out.

“There was a firefight with Korse.” They spit his name like they’re spitting out venom. “We got too comfortable, and it cost us everything. BLi took the Girl. Korse took her. We have to go get her back.”

Poison runs their fingers through their hair. Blood appears on their fingertips when they pull it back out, but they don’t even seem to notice. “So that’s what we’re doing right now. We’re stocking up some supplies, and then we’re leaving.”

“To where? Where are you going? How are you going to save her?”

“Straight to Battery City. There’s that giant rehabilitation center that doubles as BLi’s HQ. We know that’s where they’re keeping the Girl- that’s where she was the last time we found her. And BLi wants to ensure we fail.” Poison smashes their fist against their palm. “But we won’t, not again.”

“Poison,” Cherri whispers. “Poison, you can’t be serious. If you go into Battery City, you’ll die. They’re luring you in there, it’s clearly a trap. This is suicide.”

“We know.” Their voice is equally soft. “We’ve made our peace with that, Cherri. Long time ago. We’re gonna sacrifice everything we have for her, but all we have is our bodies and souls. So we’ll give that up, too.”

They’re starting to walk away. Jet Star is already in the passenger’s seat, staring absently through his one eye. Ghoul is in the back seat, fiddling around in the trunk from the seated area. Show Pony is rapping on the glass window of the trans am, trying to get Jet Star’s attention, but he’s ignoring them. Kobra Kid is speaking to Dr. D, and there are tears spilling down his cheeks. Cherri can’t remember the last time he’s seen him cry.

“You can’t go.” Cherri grabs their wrist again. Poison spins on their heels to face him, and they try to yank their arm away, but this time Cherri holds on. “Please, just think this through. If you just wait a few days, we can plot another mission, we can plan this out. You’ll have a chance of survival, at least one of you. You need to think clearly.”

“If we wait anymore, who knows what BLi will do to her! We have to act now before BLi kills her! Coming here to get supplies was already a risk! We have to go!”

“And if she’s already dead, Poison? You’ll be dying for nothing! You need to wait so we can get more information! You’re the leader here, Poison! Tell them no! Think this through! Strategize!”

Poison manages to get their hand free. They plant their hands on Cherri’s shoulder, and while they don’t shake him, they do jostle him a bit. There’s a raging inferno in their eyes of an unstable rage. “I’d die a thousand deaths if there’s even the slimmest chance of her surviving! Cherri, she has to survive! She has to survive!”

“She’s not worth all four of your lives!”

“She’s worth every soul in Battery City! You don’t understand how important she is, and even if she wasn’t, I’d still kill myself for her!” There’s tears streaming down their cheeks now, mingling with the dirt and sand and crusted over blood smeared across their face. “I don’t want to die, Cherri. I’m just twenty six. But I don’t want her dead, either. It’s our choice. Isn’t that what this entire fight has been about? The Analog Wars, the Killjoys, the Fabulous Killjoys- its always been about the right to choose! And right now, we’re choosing to die!”

Cherri Cola nearly begins to cry. He can’t fucking watch his friends throw away their lives. He can’t watch more people he loves die right in front of him. “Poison...”

Poison drops his shoulders. They wipe at the blood on their neck, then hoist up the bandana to cover it. “Don’t bother mourning us.”

“Just, wait!”

Poison stares at him, hands on their hips. Their keys are dangling, shining like a star in the sun’s light. Kobra Kid clambers into the trans am, and Dr. D is watching them with a vacant expression. Show Pony is banging on their windows, trying to get them to talk. But all of the passengers are wearing equally determined expressions, hard and weary but ready to fight. They’re all waiting for Poison.

“You deserve to know- The Girl- She’s-“

They’re about to fucking die for her. Poison deserves to know the truth, before they die. They deserve to know. They deserve to know they’re dying for their blood daughter.

Yet Cherri’s voice cracks, then fizzles into nothing but static.

Cherri stares into their eyes. There's a fire burning within, hot and entirely self-destructive.

Cherri Cola can't bring himself to whisper the truth to them.

“I have to go,” Poison whispers. And they look genuinely remorseful. “I’ll see you in another life, Cherri. I know we’ll meet again. You’ve got a good soul- stay that way.”

Poison turns their back on Cherri, and they walk towards the trans am with their head high and their back straight. Show Pony immediately spins on their roller skates to try and haggle them, but Poison simply says, “Don’t bother the dead, Pony.”

Somehow, that manages to shut up Pony. They move away from the trans am just as Poison slams the car door shut. The engine rises to life, and for a moment, Poison glances up. Cherri meets their eyes, and then Poison glances back to Jet, and then the car spins around and begins to drive off.

They don’t look back.

“What did Kobra tell you?” Show Pony demands from Dr. D. Cherri hesitantly walks over.

“He wants us to meet him in Battery City. They’re planning to save the Girl, and they don’t plan on coming back out alive. If anyone survives, they want an escape car.” Dr. D hums. “I’m going to call up Hot Chimp. Her news van should be able to fit everyone, if everyone lives.”

“She’ll pick me up,” Show Pony demands. “I’ll give her back up in case.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dr. D glances over to Cherri. “What did Poison tell you?”

Cherri wipes his eyes. “Nothing much.”

“And what did you tell them?”

There’s a twinkle in his eyes. Cherri knows he’s long ago written up each of their obituaries, years and years ago when they were all reckless twenty year olds with a fighting spirit and not much more. Cherri knows Dr. D isn’t all that upset with their untimely deaths, knows that Dr. D will be able to use this as a story to fan the flames of a revolution. And that’s all Dr. D wanted out of those kids- a story to spin into legend.

Cherri doesn’t give an answer, which is answer enough.

"You didn't tell them," Dr. D states, a strange look in his eyes. Cherri wants to say his expression is smug, like he knew all along Cherri wouldn't ever have the heart to do it, but there's something lurking under his lips. Cherri's too angry and tired to bother reading between the line of wrinkles on his face, however.

“No, I didn’t.” Cherri clenched his fist. “But I know them. They’ve won against odds worse than this. When they make it out of Battery City, when they all do, I’ll tell them. I promise.”

When they come back from hell, when they come back from that horrid purgatory, Cherri swears on his life he'll tell them. When they come back, he'll tell them that the life they always wanted was finally a reality. The Girl they nearly died for countless times was their own flesh and blood; she was their daughter.

He’ll tell them.

They’ll survive.

-

Everyone knows how this story ends. Everyone knows the legendary fall of the Fabulous Killjoys, who raided Battery City to save the Girl, to save the only hope for the generation beyond them and beyond her.

The odds were never in their favour, and Poison never kidded themself into thinking they’d survive. They didn’t think they’d survive the Helium Wars, they didn’t think they’d survive the Analog Wars, they didn’t think they’d survive the raid that killed Crow Claws and Raven and the raid that stole away Helena. They didn’t think they’d survive saving the Girl from Battery City, they didn’t think they’d survive the next four years, raising a toddler and trying to lead a revolution.

Party Poison always had a feeling they’d die young. They’d fight tooth and nail against their death, of course- they’re not going down without a fight. They’ve been at peace with that idea since they were fifteen going on sixteen, about to sign up for the wars in place of their, at the time, deathly ill sister, to let her survive. If someone was going to survive, it had to be Kobra Kid.

And now Party Poison’s going to give up everything for the Girl. And they won’t regret it.

They’d die as many times as they need to to keep her safe.

Because she’s their daughter, through and through.

And she might not be of the same blood as them or Kobra or Ghoul or Jet, but blood never meant much in the desert. They chose to keep her in their life, they chose to raise her and love her and be the best parents any of them could be, and Poison knows they’d chose to do it again and again even if it meant they’d still go down this path of dying for her.

Party Poison always wanted to have a small family. It was a small dream they had, one spoken to Helena in the thickest of nights. They didn’t have time to raise a child in the middle of war, and while Poison regrets it, there’s not much they can do to change it.

Besides, they have the Girl. And they have their three brothers. And they have Show Pony and Cherri Cola. And that’s family enough for them, one they built for themself.

So when they go marching down the hallways of Battery City headquarters, as they lead their brothers through the white maze of BLi’s suffocatingly, stiffly designed rehabilitation center, Poison doesn’t feel an ounce of fear in their body. There is no remorse nor regret, there’s nothing in them that would change the fate they’re about to meet. So they walk with their back straight, their strides long, and with as much calm and collected confidence they can muster up as they lead their three brothers to a bloody fate.

Poison reaches the Girl first and pulls her into a tight hug. She reciprocated, and Poison doesn’t have to hold out their hand for her this time. They don’t have to offer her the choice of freedom, because she already knew from the moment she saw them that she wanted exactly that: to be free.

They lead her quickly away from her cell, trying to weasel through all of the Dracs pouring in from all sides. Party Poison can feel Korse’s eyes lingering on them despite being unable to actually see him, and they have a feeling their time is slowly dwindling.

But they always knew they were never going to last forever. So they take down as many Dracs as they can, fighting back to back with their brother as they try to shield the Girl from the hail of laser fire. Ghoul and Jet disperse, trying to find ways to take the guards down without attracting too much attention to themselves.

The fight seems to crescendo, crescendo, crescendo into a climax. Laser fire blisters through the thin walls of the building, creating black smudges that blight the pristine white. Dracs continue to drop to the floor like flies, and a few puddles of blood stain the white tiles under their feet.

Party Poison knows their brothers set their guns to kill. And Party Poison doesn’t judge them for it. But Poison hasn’t killed a person since the Analog Wars, and vowed to keep it that way since Helena got Draced. If there was even the slightest chance Poison might be able to save her, or save anyone like her, then they would fight tooth and nail to do so.

So Party Poison is only stunning the Dracs that come after them. They’ve seen too much blood from serving in too many wars, seen too many dead bodies and created too many dead bodies to ever want to see more than they must. They’re not afraid to get their hands dirty, unlike Cherri Cola, but they have lines they refuse to cross. They might not have very many morals left, but they’re dead set on maintaining the ones they have.

Poison strays a bit too far from Kobra Kid. They shoot a Drac square in the chest, and as the Drac falls, Poison accidentally unmasks it, the one golden rule of fighting against Dracs now broken. Poison doesn’t know the repercussions of this one mistake, nor the domino effect it’ll have on every single moment afterwards.

It’s a woman, they can see. Her eyes flutter but remain sealed shut, unconscious from the shot to her chest. She has dark skin and black hair with curls that cascade through the air, rippling like gnarly waves as she falls.

Poison drops the mask, the rage that’s been coiling through their body since the Girl’s capture suddenly cooling into a frosty ice.

Helena.

That’s Helena.

She’s not one of the poor dead souls whose corpse has been defiled and Draced. Poison can see the rise and fall of her chest, which shouldn’t be possible if she was a corpse, since the mask had been ripped from her head. And those who are dead wear masks unable to come off.

She’s alive.

Helena is alive.

Party Poison’s last few moments don’t have a defining clarity. Everything seems to slow down in those moments; after that realization, everything seems to have a strange sort of blur to it as their entire world shifts in just those last few seconds, in just their next couple of breaths.

They can see Kobra Kid desperately trying to cover for them and the Girl, panic written across his features, stretching himself thin. Ghoul is remaining to the side lines, trying to cause as much damage as he can while slinking around. Jet Star is struggling with his single eye and is remaining as best he can away from the fight, trying to help but also trying to survive.

Party Poison’s brain freezes, and this single misstep in the fight is fatal.

They don’t even notice the prelude to what happens next. They don’t notice Korse stepping away from the shadows to capitalise on their shock. They don’t notice anything except Helena’s body lying on the ground in the middle of this gunfight, they don’t notice anything but the Girl standing with her eyes squeezed tight and her hands over her ears, trying to drown out the battle, the shots around her, the prickling electricity charging the air, the devastating scope of death at every turn.

Until suddenly they find themself pressed up against the icy white wall, Korse’s gun pressed against their neck. The cold plastic is buzzing with charging electricity, and the tip of the muzzle is searing hot on their skin. Poison’s eyes meet Korse, and Korse tilts his head, smug.

Not a word passes between them, because not a word needs to. This little game of cat and mouse is no longer a game anymore. All this time, Poison thought they had outlived Helena. But now Poison sees that Helena is about to outlive them, and that the person who took her is about to take them, too.

Party Poison doesn’t have any witty one liners to give as their world begins to crumble to pieces. They don’t have any banter to offer to their worst enemy, to the man who stole everything from them, who’s trying to steal everything they have all over again.

Poison’s eyes slip away from Korse’s, gazing past the man and into the center of the gunfight where the Girl still stands. 

Party Poison never claimed to be particularly smart. Everyone thinks of them as a bit of an airhead, charming but without much intelligence. Piecing together puzzles was more of Kobra Kid’s and Jet Star’s forte. But when pieces have been dropped in their lap, Poison isn’t oblivious. They’re descently observant to facts and details others might miss.

They see the Girl’s curly, thick hair. They think of her eyes, now open in horror at the sight of Poison pinned against the wall. Her piercing jawline that’s dropped in horror of the predicament she’s watching unfold. They think of her stocky build, her short stature despite their best efforts to give her as much nutrients as possible. They think of her dazzling brown skin.

And they know.

The shot echoes in their skull, but there are still sounds louder than the very sound of death.

Kobra Kid’s animalistic scream bounces around the walls of the building. They can hear the frantic gunfire that ensues as they begin to slip down the wall. Electricity hums, dangerously, as lasers increase in their numbers, as Kobra Kid’s scream reverberates throughout the room.

And yet, the Girl’s soft hiccup, her gentle sniffling, is somehow the loudest sound in that entire building, in the entire world. Poison slips to the ground, their world nothing but blurred. They can see red and yellow streak about their vision, as Kobra Kid tries to strike back. They see spots of green and purple dance as Ghoul heads towards the black and blue blue that is Jet Star. They’re heading straight towards the Girl, prepared to try and make a break for it.

(Poison can’t hear Kobra’s screams anymore.)

They see the white body next to them, Helena laying sound asleep to their right, still yet so, so much more alive than Poison is in that very moment. Korse hovers over them with a pleased expression, a smile perched on his lips. 

The only thing on Party Poison’s mind isn’t the fact that they’re dying, isn’t Kobra Kid, isn’t even Helena. Poison zeroes in on the Girl, and reaches out a hand. The Girl watches with wide eyes as Party Poison offers the only piece of advice they can give.

There’s so many things they wish they could say, so many things they would have said if they had the time. I love you. I wish I could protect you. Don’t let them take the light behind your eyes. Stay safe out there. You’re so strong.

But Poison can’t let Korse take the only good thing in this godforsaken desert, they can’t let BLi steal away another family member. They won’t let BLi take anything more from them; they can have Poison’s body and soul and everything else Poison has but they can’t fucking have her.

So Poison whispers one last word, one last order as the leader of the Fabulous Killjoys, as the parent to the Girl. In their dying breath, struggling through the veil of death, they say this, and only this:

_”Run.”_

And then the Fabulous Killjoys were no more.

**Author's Note:**

> :( man i hate having poison be nb and then revealing their agab but i kind of had to for this. since Helena, u know, is the one who’s pregnant. 
> 
> i always think that korse & bli would deadname & misgender the shit out of trans people but i usually don’t write that bc i don’t like revealing agab.
> 
> anyway here’s a vague timeline:
> 
> 1980: helium wars start  
> 1988: Cherri is born  
> 1991: jet is born  
> 1992: helena is born (so are kobra & ghoul & Pony)  
> 1993: Poison is born  
> 1995: jet's parents served in the war but flee, taking jet with them into the desert (starting the desert community)  
> 2009: age limit of the draft gets lowered to 17 bc so many people are fucking dying  
> 2009: poison is 16 & joins the war bc kobra is too sick to get drafted in & they need money, desperately; helena joins the war as well  
> 2011: helium wars end & the analog wars start, led by helena (19)  
> 2013: analog wars end- helena gets captured; the Girl is born during capture  
> 2015: break into battery city & save the girl  
> 2019: killjoys die (rip) (poison is 26, kobra & ghoul 27, show pony is 27 jet 28)  
> 


End file.
